Follow You Home
by WolfMusic
Summary: HPDM. Alternate 6th year. Harry hates how he feels about Draco, and vice versa. But neither of them have any idea how their developing relationship will affect those around them and the war itself. Rated M for language and later chapters. ON HIATUS.
1. Dazzles Me

I had some time between attempting to revise a Lit essay and other homework and came up with this. I hope it's decent. I'm always very pleased to get con-crit, so no one be afraid to say anything. I got the title from a Nickelback song, in case anyone was wondering.

Maybe I can actually update this one. Reviews/constant hassling equals incentive to write. Remember that.

For Adica Finch, because we won't get to astound and amaze our fellow students with our HP/DMness (costumes).

* * *

**One**

Harry's heart thrummed in its cage, his lungs contracting strangely. He closed his eyes, damning – who? Himself? His hormones? Or _him_? Harry closed his eyes.

"Oou uhry, muai?" Ron asked him. Harry took a deep breath, and opened his eyes, translating his best friend's question to reasonable English.

"Yeah, I'm alright. Just not feeling great." Harry rearranged the food on his plate in no particular design. Ron shrugged and took another bite. Harry realized that among Ron's myriad of useless talents, another one had made itself known in balancing three spoonfuls worth of food on one spoon, and then managing not to choke swallowing it all.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but said nothing; she was well accustomed to Ron's idiosyncrasies involving food.

"You've finished your Potions paper, haven't you, Harry?" Hermione questioned. Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Harry! We've had three weeks to do research and get it done! What have you been doing?!"

_Daydreaming about Draco Malfoy_, Harry thought bitterly. _Bastard._

"I've got some books – it'll be fine, Hermione." Harry parted from his fork to put his head in his hand.

"I certainly hope so. You only have this weekend."

"Owlom– " Ron began to ask. Hermione shot him a look. Ron swallowed what he'd been shoveling in. "How long does it have to be, again?"

"Nine feet." Harry's stomach sank into itself.

"Great. Four more feet to pull out of my arse." Ron had _five feet_ worth of essay? Harry felt a heady rush of panic on his insides.

He shoved his plate away and rose to leave.

"If you need help finding information, Harry…" Hermione told him. He grinned. She was probably much more miffed than she was letting on, but she was still offering to help. Harry wasn't about to pass up that kind of an opportunity.

"That'd be great. Library tomorrow morning?"

"Tonight?" she suggested, and not without force. Harry took a step forward anxiously and sighed. He nodded.

"All right, seven then. And your topic was…?"

"Well," he flushed, running a hand through his untidy hair, "I got… _seduction potions_," he mumbled. If Harry had despised Snape before, he absolutely loathed him now. The snarky Potions Master had assigned specific topics to those in the class. In his mind, Harry could still see Snape smirking with glee. And the way the papers were set up, every detail had to be provided, including ingredients, make-time, short-term effects, long-term effects, and personal views. Every angle needed to be covered, making Harry acutely embarrassed to commit to paper… er, certain physical aspects.

"Oh," Hermione said. "Well, then," she smiled with false cheerfulness, "there'll be enough to get down, won't there?"

"Right," Harry muttered.

"He really has it in for you, doesn't he? Seduction Potions!" Ron ducked his head as Harry glared at him – as well as a goodly portion of Gryffindor table.

Before things could get any more awkward, Harry ducked out, heading for–

"Anywhere but here."

And somewhere he wouldn't have to think. The only place like that was in the air and on a broom. Walking swiftly to the broom shed, Harry grabbed his Firebolt, a Christmas present from Sirius a few winters ago.

He tried to enjoy the exhilaration flying brought on. However, Harry had no respite. Subtle and not-so-subtle thoughts about Draco circled his mind as he circled the pitch.

_Malfoy. Not Draco, it's__ M-A-L-F-O-Y, Malfoy._

Harry gripped the broom tightly, somersaulting in the air.

He could sort of recall the beginnings of realization, but it had been steadily progressing since first year. He would walk into the Great Hall, or Potions, or Transfiguration – or one of the other numerous classes that Gryffindors shared with Slytherins – and would instinctively be looking for a blonde head of hair. He could pinpoint a whisper from him across halls and classrooms, could interpret most every nuance in that drawling, aristocratic voice. The voice that made his stomach muscles clench in excitement, sent shivers down his shoulder blades. Harry wouldn't have bothered to respond to Draco's – _Malfoy's_ – taunts and ridicule if indifference kept Malfoy around rather than getting rid of him altogether. Harry didn't even know what he said in response, only that it was loud and as rude as possible. And he was certainly learning not to insult Narcissa Malfoy within her son's hearing distance.

Frowning, Harry pulled the broom upwards, reminding himself of every despicable quality the Slytherin had. Lying, cheating, stealing, bragging (there was always a "father says" in Draco's – _Malfoy's _– speeches), the way his face was probably permanently contorted into a sneer, the way his hands moved around so much…

Harry swerved to avoid a pillar decorated in Ravenclaw colors. It angered him to no end that these thoughts about his voice and his hands – perfectly manicured, long and slender fingers without calluses – caused him to react to strongly. Maybe hating Draco – _Whatever, I'll call the prat by his __first name_ – had been the initial mistake. He should've just avoided him, ignored him. Bit late now, though.

Obviously, flying wasn't working to clear his mind. Maybe doing work on that ridiculous essay would consume him.

With reluctance, Harry flew low, snaking around nonexistent obstacles until he was close enough to the broom shed to dismount and put the broom away.

The green-eyed boy sighed, shoving one hand in his pocket and the other through his hair as soon as he'd shut the door.

"Enjoyed yourself, did you, Potter?" Harry's system thrilled, his heart's tempo increasing ten-fold. He turned to face Draco, alone without his rock-headed cronies. "You'd know all about the pleasure of _riding broomsticks_, wouldn't you?"

Color blossomed on Harry's face.

"Sod off, Malfoy," Harry said carefully, not rushing in case he slipped on the blonde's surname.

"Really, Potter, is that all you can come back with? _Sod off_? I must've really hit home. Or maybe something about me dazzles you."

"Dazzles me into Hexing your sorry arse, you mean."

Draco sauntered forward. Harry thoughtlessly stepped backward and hit the wall of the shed. Draco put a hand to either side of Harry's head and leaned in, effectively trapping him. If Harry had been thinking properly and not letting his mind run away with his good sense, he would've sucker-punched Draco in the stomach, drawn his wand, and Jinxed the other boy.

But Harry's heart worked in conjunction with his stomach to eddy and swirl in dreadful, unfounded hope. His system short-circuited as Draco's face hovered inches from his, Draco having to bend his neck to meet Harry.

Harry refused to breathe, afraid he'd latch onto the boy in front of him.

His heart started back up with a vengeance as Draco's lips parted. Moments pulsed by.

Draco's lips pulled back over his teeth to reveal a mocking grin, his cold eyes dancing merrily at Harry's response to his nearness.

Draco shoved away from Harry, laughing harshly.

"God, Potter, you're just a fucking pouf!"

The rejection was expected, but painful all the same. Harry could feel as his heart ripped itself to pieces. He wouldn't let it overflow from his eyes, though. _Let me have that dignity, at least_, he thought. _It's only Malfoy. _

Not only that, but by nightfall the entire castle would undoubtedly know Draco's side of events, and the revelation that Harry The-Boy-Who-Lived Potter was gay would have him scorned unlike much else.

He tried to say something, anything to rebuke his tormentor's words. He couldn't summon anything past his clogging throat.

"Aw, are those tears I see? Going to _cry_, Potter? Can't even take it like a man and threaten to Hex my balls off! But you wouldn't want that, now, would you?"

In the depths of Harry's affection was a great tangle of hatred interwoven with it. It loosened itself now.

As Draco threw his head back in laughter, adrenaline laced with rage pumped through Harry's veins. He stepped forward and pulled his hand back. Harry's fist connected with Draco's jaw. Draco dropped to the grass, curling around himself, a hand over his lower face.

Blood blossoming from between his fingers, Draco whimpered. Harry ignored his distress at the Slytherin's pain, opting instead for anger.

"You're completely filled with shit, Malfoy. You are nothing, have always been and _will_ always be nothing. So get _fucked_."

Harry walked away, overcoming the Gryffindor-ish urge to haul Draco up and to the Hospital Wing.

_It won't control me, he doesn'__t control me. Damn Draco Malfoy in__to the farthest regions of hell!_

It was getting dark, and was most likely nearing seven. No one stood outside the entrance to the library. Harry clenched his fists, shoving everything down into the deepest folds of his mind. Breathing out, he opened the door. Hermione was already at a table, a myriad of books rapidly making a fort around her. Harry plopped down on the chair across from her.

Hermione didn't look up as she asked, "Run into Malfoy, again?"

Harry stiffened in reflex.

"You know, ignoring him works just as well as pointing your wand at him." She flipped through a thick brown volume, jotting down notes here and there; she didn't realize that Harry might take her comment the wrong way. Harry stared at Hermione until she looked up.

"Here," she said, shoving a stack of books at Harry, as well as a quill and spare parchment. He sighed gustily, but cracked open the topmost book. He missed the appraising look Hermione gave him. She opened her mouth to say something, but bit it back. She'd tell him later.

* * *

Draco was exceptionally skilled at hiding things, especially the fact that he was extremely accident prone. So Madame Pomfrey was not surprised when she greeted Draco in the Hospital Wing, a bloody hand covering his mouth. 

"What's happened this time, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco slowly removed his hand. Madame Pomfrey's face scrunched up.

"Have you been fighting?"

_I wouldn't call getting punched fighting, per se_, he thought.

"I was out on the Quidditch pitch and my mouth connected with the broom," he told her stoutly. Using her wand as a light, she ordered Draco to open his mouth. He did so carefully. She clucked in reproach.

"We'll need to fix some teeth. And your tongue and lip could do with some sprucing up, as well."

Madame Pomfrey walked off and came back a moment later with a cherry-colored potion. She handed it to him, instructing him to drink it all.

"Then I want you to lie down for fifteen minutes. After that, you're free to go."

Hopping on a bed, Madame Pomfrey made sure he downed the stuff, and then left him. Draco settled down. His eyes felt weighted, but he didn't want to doze.

_Fucking Potter_, he growled internally. Draco had been eyeing him in the Great Hall, and had followed him out. As Harry had taken to the air, Draco had watched from the shadows of one of the pillars. He'd used his eyes to follow in a dazed comfort as Harry dipped and raced, a frown covering his forehead. Draco had wondered at it, desperate to know what the boy was thinking. And when Harry had dismounted, Draco couldn't keep himself from following.

Draco groaned, covering his eyes with a hand. He hated to think that he was actually an idiot, but the moment had come.

He could still feel the trill through his body as he backed Harry against the broom shed. Recalling the consequences of following through with it, Draco squirmed in discomfort, trying to keep his heart from sinking. But Draco was good about accepting his circumstances, whatever they might have been. He was accustomed to the way his father treated him after all; never had Draco received more than a "sloppy work," or a "useless Squib!" His mother didn't seem to care all that much, either. So why did it shock him find the object of his affection rejected him as well?

_It doesn't_, he lied to himself, looking at the clock. Eight more minutes.

Draco was, indeed, exceptionally skilled at hiding things. His burgeoning belief that he was an inadequate human being, ultimately leading to a decline in his self-confidence, didn't show through his outer façade. Draco hated the sneer that graced his features. But he'd been taught to always have it ready from his earliest lessons with Lucius, his father.

_Yes, lessons learned from Father that currently apply to my life: Dark Lord good, Potter bad; get the best grades or expect a beating; Mudbloods bad, too;__ scouting out potential mothers for __my future offspring means not having homosexual feelings for my greatest nemesis__/rival__. Well. Things seem to be going fucking splendidly.__ H__uzzah for Draco._

Fifteen minutes had passed. Draco rose silently from the bed. He wasn't sure where he wanted to go, but he knew where he didn't want to go. He didn't have any immediate homework, having finished his Potions paper a week ago, and other than flying, that was all he cared for.

_There's always my incredible social life to occupy the endless hours._ The thought of Pansy draping herself over him made Draco nauseous. And Crabbe and Goyle didn't count as friends; they were more like breathing, endlessly ravenous rocks. No Slytherin had true friends, and that was all there was to it. Draco never dwelled on it long enough to regret not having any.

He swiftly turned down the corridor and made for the staircase. In years past, Draco had found solace in exploring the near-endless rooms of the castle, even going so far as to read _Hogwarts: A History_. He hadn't yet been through a fourth of the rooms in his six years at the school, but he took his time.

_Hell, maybe I'__ll come back to teach._

Teach what, he had no idea. Bullshitting, maybe?

Draco climbed to the fourth floor and set off, watching the portraits and the people residing in them. Every once in a while, he'd engage them in a chat, but not much.

Opening the sixth door on his left, he discovered a vacant classroom. By the look of accumulated dust, it hadn't been used for ten years at the least. Draco walked around slowly, running his fingers through the dust on the desks. He could imagine just where the Golden Trio would sit, could see their leader biting his lip trying to figure out the important key phrases for notes.

Draco sat down next to the unreal Harry, tracing patterns where his arm would be. A desire to brush his hand along Harry's was nearly overpowering, but the feeling was less effective than being physically near the Gryffindor.

Where had it all started, this obsession with Harry Potter? When he'd rebuked Draco's offer of friendship before their Sorting? Possible that's where it really started. No one had ever refused Draco, not with his father being as important and high-ranking as he was. The prestigious name of Malfoy was beneath Half-Blood Potter's? It had infuriated the tow-headed boy to the point of a driving desire to see Harry Potter fail at everything, and Draco outshine him, his superiority obvious to all. And it didn't hurt that Potter was sorted into the rival House, either.

It never worked, though. Most of Draco's attempts to bring Harry down either didn't work, or backfired on Draco; he was a constant failure, something his father repeatedly drilled into him.

And why didn't Draco call him – within the confines of his mind, of course – Potter, anymore? Because, whether he liked it or not, Draco wanted to be as close as possible to him. And using his first name was more personal… more intimate.

The feelings were progressively getting worse, and Draco was dreading where it would lead him. It had always been natural for Draco to spout off to Harry, and still was sometimes. Mostly, though, his voice died, to be replaced with his rebellious heart. Those times when he could say something, it was always callous. He didn't want anyone, especially his father, even speculating that Draco had any sort of fondness for Harry. It gave Draco bitter satisfaction to throw himself into tearing the boy down, but it was necessary. Besides, it was instinct to jeer at him, and instincts were difficult to overcome.

Breathing was a bit problematic, as well. Either Draco couldn't breathe from the sheer force of feeling, or it was erratic and infrequent. That feeling like an electric current racing through his blood, under his skin; he knew where it was going and enjoyed it as much as he allowed himself. And there was a sort of…energy – he had no other word for it – that surrounded Harry, making Draco severely aware of the heat of Harry's body, every shift in motion, every breath, every half-whispered word.

It was exquisite and painful. Draco enjoyed feeling something deeply, but he loathed feeling that something for Harry. That feeling had been dissipating, but was still there.

His stomach abruptly informed him that food was in the Great Hall, not being eaten. If Crabbe and Goyle didn't get to it, that was.

Draco sighed, stirring the dust before him. He took one last look about the room before leaving.

* * *

Harry ran up the steps as fast as he could. His head was throbbing from having to read so much small print in one sitting. All he wanted now was sleep, or Wizard's Chess with Ron, or anything that didn't entail reading, really. The thought of having to do the same for longer the next day filled Harry with a great deal of disgust.

He didn't see someone coming down the hall. Harry collided solidly with this someone else, knocking him over.

"Sorry, I didn't–" Harry wished he could retract the apology. Draco picked himself up, not bothering to brush himself off. The blonde was covered in a considerable amount of dust.

"See me, Potter? I can't fault you when you have your head up your arse. Or maybe–"

Harry drew his wand. His anger hadn't diminished in the last hour-and-a-half. Hopefully the prat would try something.

"Say it, and I'll Hex you," he threatened. Draco merely raised an eyebrow and grinned. The grin threw Harry off, a firework exploding in his chest, sending signals to the rest of his nervous system.

Draco saw the pause, and worked his way in front of Harry, quickly grabbing Harry's right hand in his left, pointing it away. Harry hardly noticed. All Harry could see were Draco's eyes blazing, searching his face. Like before, he leaned in close to Harry.

Draco wanted so much at that moment to press his lips to Harry's. Only McGonagall's random appearance stopped him. Barely.

"Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter. What is the meaning of this?"

She approached them, hands on her hips. Frustrated beyond belief, Draco released Harry and stepped backwards.

"N-nothing, Professor," Harry managed weakly. Draco didn't bother saying anything. He had an idea as to how it would all end.

"Well, then," she said nodding, "with that_ very_ reasonable explanation, I shall just have to invite the both of you to my classroom Monday evening for a bit, won't I? Seven is reasonable, I believe."

Both were wise enough not to argue, even though Draco had Quidditch practice that night.

"Get to your dormitories, you two," she told them brusquely, continuing down the corridor.

Harry turned back to Draco, mustering as much hatred as he should have naturally been showing.

"Save it for Monday, Potter." Draco brushed past Harry, subtly drawing his hand over Harry's. Harry felt it and shuddered.

Draco felt Harry watching him until he rounded the corner, out of sight.

* * *

Harry stood there for some time in a thoughtless stupor. When he finally wanted to function properly, he propelled himself toward Gryffindor Tower.

"Password?" the portrait of the Fat Lady asked.

"Humdinger."

People were scarce in the Common Room, only a few first years sitting with their heads together over a History text. Harry went straight for the stairs.

In the dorm, Ron was throwing on a coat.

"Where're you going?" Harry inquired. Ron held up a letter.

"For Fred and George. They want to know if I'd be willing to test out some 'developmental products,'" the redhead said, zipping up his jacket. "You want to come with me to the Owlry?"

"No, thanks."

Ron shrugged.

"All right, then. Later, mate." Ron left, closing the door behind him.

Harry dropped onto his bed. He kicked his shoes off, and drew the hangings together around his bed. He wasn't sure how long he stared into nothingness for, but at some point, he began dreaming. Unrelated images blended together only as dreams could. In the midst of it, Harry could see himself from a distance in the form of a stag. He was running through the dungeons of Hogwarts from something merciless and hungry for his death. But he rammed into another form, soft and gray. The legs of both stag-Harry and the wolf tangled. The thing was getting closer, and as the woven two rose, Harry was surprised to find that they could run much faster and farther together.

Harry woke, a crash and shattering coming from outside his bed hangings. Harry reached outside the curtains automatically for his glasses, but realized he already had them on. He pulled the fabric back. Ron and Seamus were staring intensely at each other, something in the form of a compact mirror smashed on the floor.

"What's going on?" Harry asked. Neville and Dean, too, were looking at the pair from a roused sleep.

"Nothing," Ron said, "I was just getting to bed." He looked away from Seamus. Grabbing his pajamas, Ron hopped onto his bed and flung the curtains round with violence.

Seamus shook his head and muttered a cleaning spell. Instead of his bed, Seamus went for the door. Harry looked at Dean and Neville. Both shrugged, just as confused as he.

Harry took his glasses off and settled back again. Harry only briefly wondered at the silence from Ron's bed. By now, he would have been snoring.

_Whatever. Ron'll tell me tomorrow, anyway._

Harry closed his eyes. He forgot about the previous dream as others came forward to replace it.


	2. Be Blank

**Disclaimer:** I only claim the plot and some original themes and or characters, not the true characters of HP or his world.

Forgive me for any errors in spelling, or if things don't sync well. Please tell me if anything is off. Little ideas are cool for snippets or scenes should you have any (because I enjoy when my readers give me bits – and I like mooching that way). I really feel that I can keep this up, plot-wise and whatnot.

**Dedicated** **to** Prongs. I lied. It _is_ "King's Dragon"

**Two**

Harry had more or less forgotten about Ron's and Seamus's fight the previous night. He was too angry at himself for falling for Draco's act twice.

He muttered to himself as he approached the Great Hall. Walking in, his eyes naturally went to the Slytherin table. He reproached himself immediately.

_Just leave it alone_, he told himself with conviction, striding to his table. He sat down and began piling on the food. Moments later, Ron joined him. Each nodded in acknowledgement. Harry attacked a piece of streaky bacon in annoyance, grabbing its thicker counterpart before he had the whole of the other in his mouth. Ron didn't eat. Tapping his fork noisily on the side of his plate, the redhead sulked.

Taking a breath, Harry noticed his best friend's behavior.

"Oi, Ron. How come you're not eating?"

It took a moment for Ron to register the question.

"Huh? Oh. I dunno. Just not hungry, I guess."

Harry raised his glass of pumpkin juice in toast.

"So since the world's ending, shall we make it an Irish pumpkin juice?" This was wrong thing to say, apparently.

"Irish? _Irish_?! What the bleeding hell is so great about the goddamned Irish?!"

Luckily Ron was only mumbling heatedly instead of shouting. Then Harry remembered. He could sense it was a present sore spot with Ron, but Harry wanted to know what the spat was over. He tried being casual about it.

"What's it about?" Harry took a sip of his juice nonchalantly. "Because if it's about the Kestrals cheating the Canons again, you're wasting your breath."

"It's not that, Harry," Ron said darkly. Harry waited silently.

Ron sighed theatrically.

"That bastard thinks he can upstage my position as Keeper at tryouts."

"Oh," said Harry. "And when are those, again?"

Ron looked at Harry as though he'd just slipped a finger in his nose to make a snack out of a bogie.

"I thought you were Captain?!"

"You know, I was under that impression, too."

But Harry's focus immediately went to the one who'd just walked in. Draco appraised Harry as he walked, sneering high-handedly. Ron turned to see what Harry was looking at. He gave Draco his best stink-eye. Draco merely looked at them, seating himself at his table.

"God, what a prick. Why does everyone all of a sudden think they're better than I am?!"

"Who's better than you are?" Hermione asked. The boys turned to look at her as she set two thick books on the table.

Ron mumbled incoherently and turned away to take it out on the nearest available food (which just so happened to be the scrambled egg platter). Harry's eyes went back to Draco; he lowered them quickly when he saw the blonde was glaring at him.

Hermione ignored Ron, sliding the books to Harry as she sat across from him. Harry took some more bacon. Hermione drummed her fingers on the table, staring at him. A small battle of wills was playing out between them: if Harry could avoid her skin-prickling gaze long enough, she wouldn't say anything. Her fingers kept going. _Click. Click. Click._

Harry caved easily enough.

"_What?_" he asked, only looking so far as her hands in front of her.

"Oh, nothing," Hermione said sweetly. Harry looked up at this. Her tone reminded him well of Umbridge. "I was just wondering–"

Ron stood quickly, knocking a bowl of fruit off balance. He said nothing as he shoved past Seamus and out of the room. Harry winced in sympathy for Ron. Seamus sat at the far end of the table.

"Harry – did you write up anything last night after you quit the library?"

He blinked at her. She sighed.

"Well, as long as you've done the other half, you'll only have to suffer the writing."

"What do you mean?"

Hermione looked at Harry pointedly.

"You at least made a sample of a seduction potion, didn't you?"

He shook his head.

"No. But, I mean how long can it take to make?"

"Harry, it takes three days _minimum_ to create a seduction potion!"

Harry gaped at her in unadulterated horror.

"Suppose your head was elsewhere other than in the books." She grabbed a rolling apple and cleaned it with her robes.

"Yeah," he said hollowly, "up my arse."

"Yes, I suppose it was."

* * *

The weekend passed without incident (unless Harry's frustration was taken into account). With many, _many_ thanks due to Hermione, Harry had managed to pull together a reasonably-formed Ardency Potion, the simplest that could be managed; and even though it was rushed, the quality still appeared good. In the Great Hall, all who had Snape's class first were checking over their assignments. At Hermione's insistence, the vials containing Harry, Ron, and Hermione's individual potions were Charmed unbreakable.

After a fourth going-over, Harry decided it was sound enough. From overhead, the owls came in to deliver the morning mail. Hedwig dropped in carrying nothing, only offering some affection in return for a bite of bacon. A _Daily Prophet_ owl landed before Hermione, dropping her the news after she'd put a coin in his leg-purse.

"Anything new?" Harry asked as Hedwig flew off.

"Yes, actually. Mickland Marstrand is now the head of the Auror office."

"'Oo?" Ron asked, back to full feeding-mode.

"You mean someone's replaced Moody?" asked Harry sharply. Hermione nodded gravely.

"He's a close friend of the Malfoy family, has a lot of influence in Germany, France, and the States," she explained for them.

"So, he's a Death Eater?" Ron hadn't put down his fork, even though the gravity of the situation warranted it.

"No charges ever stuck, but he's a supporter, all right."

The three could only guess at the implications.

* * *

When Draco's mind was overworked and lacked sleep, his mind went into a hazy blank; he was only vaguely aware of what was around him, and he moved as an automaton. In this way, he spent his breakfast. Students trickled in here and there, he supposed. He didn't care. Crabbe and Goyle came in too at some point – Draco cared even less, if it was possible. It wasn't until the mail that he snapped into alertness.

His eagle owl, Vicious, dropped a single letter in front of Draco, flying away without so much as an acknowledgement of her owner. Draco picked up the envelope, his name in an ornate scrawl that could only belong to Lucius Malfoy.

_How joyous_, thought Draco as he used his butter knife to slit the seal. Yanking the letter from the ruins of his attempt, he unfolded the paper to read the brief message.

_Draco,_

_I need to speak to you immediately.__Tonight, b__e at the edge of the Forbidden Forest by 12:30 exactly__, nearest the gate__. Tell __no __one._

Draco was certainly alert now. The Forbidden Forest? In the dead of night? What could be so secretive…?

Draco felt the blood leave his face to find shelter elsewhere. A sick, twisting fear started in his stomach and circled up to his throat. The name he didn't even dare to think, lest it somehow invoke him. The Dark Lord required something of his father – or worse to think, required something of Draco.

His clothes were now too scratchy, the room was too warm. He needed to be outside.

The bell for first class rang. Air and being ten minutes tardy to Snape's class, or being shut in Snape's class where there was an almost certain guarantee of no moving air (was the man so used to the confines of the dungeon he had to keep every other room the same way)?

But the real question was, Where would Harry be?

_This goes _far_ beyond rational__, this does._

Draco rose from the table, grabbing the letter and forcing it into his pocket and picking up his knapsack. He ignored Crabbe and Goyle's protests for him to wait for them.

Draco took his usual shortcuts to Snape's room, keeping his wand lighted through the unlit spaces.

He got there as Weasley and Finnegan began fighting. Not even bothering with wands, the two chose fisticuffs instead. There was a small crowd of seven or so; five were murmuring around the two; Granger was off to the side, yelling at the both of them to be reasonable and stop all this; Harry was trying to yank Weasley off. Weasley only shoved Harry backwards. Draco's protectiveness flared for Harry. Once again, the blonde didn't think things through, and sent "_Protego__"_ between the Irish boy and the redhead.

Everyone looked round to see Draco with his wand raised.

"Stay out of this, Malfoy!" Weasley shouted. Draco coolly raised an eyebrow.

"Well look at you two, fighting like a bunch of Muggles. How _refined_."

Harry had finally gotten a good grasp on his friend, and was tugging him towards the classroom. Unfortunately, at the same time, Snape came from around the corner.

"Well, well, well. Potter. Weasley. Finnegan. Ten points each from Gryffindor. And I'll expect you tonight, seven-thirty sharp."

"I already have detention tonight with Professor McGonagall," Harry stated, suddenly glad for McGonagall's punishment. Harry wasn't going to argue with Snape's unfairness but if it was between detention with Snape and detention with McGonagall, Harry knew which he would prefer.

"Really?" Snape raised an eyebrow. "Then the three of us will just need to have a chat, won't we? By the way. Draco," he looked at the blonde with pride. Harry felt Snape's mockery coming in waves as he said, "Thirty points to Slytherin for calm-collectedness and restoring some semblance of order."

Normally Draco would have raised his head and strutted into the classroom. Rather, he stole a side-wise glance at Harry before pushing his way into the room.

* * *

"He really is a son-of-a-bitch, Harry." An hour and fifteen minutes later, Harry, Ron and Hermione sat grouped in History of Magic. Professor Binns droned on about the Herrequin Revolt of 1673, and only Hermione scribbled any form of notes.

"_The cause of this __revolt__ was not, as most believe, __the__ oppression __of Half-Bloods and Muggleborns __who were forced into servitude__…"_

"I know," Harry said, "Snape has–"

"Snape? Oh, yeah, him too. I was talking about–" Ron cut off, gesturing to Seamus with his head and grunting.

_"…but the __realization by __those __free __Witches and Wizards __that __the Ministry turning a blind eye to it __all __was __only a prelude to what else they might ignore__…__"_

"Have you set a date for tryouts yet?" Ron asked anxiously.

"Yeah," replied Harry. "Fifth of October, next Saturday. Hopefully, we'll get some good weather." Ron looked as though a stone had been forced down his throat. Harry slapped him on the back encouragingly. Hermione made a slicing motion across her neck at the sound.

"You're a shoe-in, you know. Just keep it up, and you'll fly circles around the rest."

"If only I could be so confident."

"It'll be fine," Harry said with finality.

_"__…t__he leader of a band of resistance fighters__ called the __Dragonhides__ was Lucia Ottero, who __worked from within the Ministry itself to topple the corrupt institution__…__"_

Draco didn't bother with notes. Instead, he dreaded over what the night would bring.

_At least I can spend some time with Harry beforehand_, he thought. Then one of those nasty and foreboding voices in the back of his head said, _Yes, time with the boy you _love, _the boy who loathes your very existence __and would rather you dead than__ kiss__ing__ him._

Draco held his head in his hands. But wasn't _some_ time with Harry time nonetheless?

_"…once it was discovered that Lucia was the key to__ the Dragonhides, the Min–"_

The bell rang, cutting him off.

"We will continue next time," he said gravely.

As Draco hurried out, he kept his head down. He fell in step behind Granger, Weasley, and Harry. He stayed unassuming, and listened as Harry replied to whatever the redhead had said.

" – what makes you think that he's any better at flying than you are? Listen Ron, I've seen you play. I doubt there's anyone better at playing Keeper."

_That's right_, remembered Draco, _I__'m not going to practice tonight because of the detention._ Draco had this feeling that the team would be lost without him, since it seemed that most of the Slytherins were slightly inbred, and as a result, of less intelligence than Draco. Of course he'd never say anything about it, but unless they were raised that stupid, that's what it had to be.

The three in front of him split off, Granger for Ancient Runes – where Draco would head as well – and the other two somewhere for their free period.

_Knowing his schedule doesn't mean I'm stalking him. I'm… keeping an eye on him, is all. Father should be proud: I know my enemy well.

* * *

_"… and, as always, no magic during this detention. If I might have your wands, gentlemen?"

Harry and Draco handed them over resignedly. McGonagall held them primly in one hand.

"All the desks must be thoroughly scrubbed. I don't want to see any graffiti, or any–" she made a face "–gum left anywhere. There are your buckets and scrubs over there," she pointed to a desk in the first row. "I'll be back in two hours."

Throughout, Draco wisely kept his tongue in check, with many thanks to the Silencing Charm he cast on himself. He would only worry if he couldn't use the nonverbal reversal to _un_-silence himself. He was glad for the silence and yet wasn't, because he could truly sense Harry, his presence. Draco would keep it and, in a small place of his mind, treasure it vastly.

Harry too kept quiet. For the first hour, he was on edge, wary of anything Draco might say or do. He was certain the Slytherin would try to pull something. But after he saw that Draco didn't seem to be even very aware, Harry let himself relax some (though he still kept "_constant vigilance_"), and even enjoyed the silent… companionship?... with Draco, pushing out of his mind the memories of how they came to be here.

Draco watched Harry from the corners of his eyes, but only when Harry faced him. When his back was turned, Draco full-out stared, greedily taking in every nuance of the brunette, but continuing to scrub at the desk he was on. That constricting feeling within his chest bloomed, and he fought himself: he wanted to tamp it down, because _he_ wanted to be in control, not have his emotions run him; but he also _wanted_ to feel what he was feeling, because it just felt…

_Wonderful._

More than once, Draco reflected on how incredible it would feel just to be able to throw the damned scrub across the room, stride over, and wrap his arms around Harry, taking in his scent, his warmth, the feel of his body. Little did he suspect Harry was having similar thoughts about Draco. But neither thought about anything other than holding – to do so was just to delude themselves, and very likely lead to erections.

Neither noticed the passage of time much. So it was somewhat surreal when McGonagall came back just as she'd said she would. Harry and Draco put the scrubs back into the bucket, and accepted their wands back from the Transfiguration teacher.

Outside the room, Hermione and Ron were waiting for Harry. Harry felt at odds, because he hadn't in the least fought with Draco, and felt on decent terms with him.

Draco saw Granger and Weasley approach Harry as they came out the door. Granger at least tried to hide her contempt; Weasley didn't bother.

Draco didn't deign to respond to the look, and so didn't take off the Charm. He simply put his wand in his pocket, and walked away. But not before dropping something…

* * *

Parchment fell from Draco's pocket. His name was on Harry's lips before remembering that Hermione and Ron were there (and even if they weren't, Draco would probably kill him for taking such liberties). Instead of calling him back, Harry stepped forward to take the parchment. He looked up in time to see Draco round the corner down the corridor.

Picking it up, he turned to say something to Ron and Hermione, but saw that they hadn't noticed anything. They looked antsy to be away. So as they motioned for Harry to follow, Harry slipped the parchment in his pocket, forgetting about it until much later.

* * *

Draco was extremely on edge. He wanted to illuminate his way, but couldn't risk being seen. He glanced around the pitch-dark area, shivering from something other than cold. He straightened his hood to better hide his features. It took a while for him to reach the gate, by which time he was thoroughly jumpy. Draco tried to still his jitters before his father saw him.

"Good evening, Draco."

Heart in throat, Draco turned to see his father stalk silently toward him. Draco congratulated himself on not shrieking.

_God, I hate the dark_, he thought.

Draco knew better than to say anything other than "Good evening, Father." This was the right thing to say, for the man smiled arrogantly.

"Well, now that formalities are out of the way," Draco's father started, "I firstly need to know whether or not Bellatrix has been teaching you Occlumency."

Draco nodded obediently. Auntie Bellatrix had been training him in Occlumency for the sole reason that she didn't trust Severus Snape a whit.

"Yes, Father, she has." Lucius nodded wisely.

"And you're to a point where you can keep your mind from Snape?"

Matter of fact, he was. He and the Potions Master had even had an argument when Snape had tried to find an answer he desired from within Draco's mind, and Draco had shut him out.

"Yes, Father, I am."

"Very good, very good. Now, Draco, the Dark Lord requires me to bring him Potter, sooner rather than later."

Draco was thankful that his complexion was naturally so light. He felt every ounce of blood drain from his face for the second time that day. He knew what the Dark Lord wanted from Harry – his very life. Draco was under the impression that his father wasn't much for Occlumency, but all the same, Draco put up his mental barriers, shoving every emotion deep into his mind. He didn't want to feel the gut-wrenching horror of thinking Harry would–

_Be blank_, Draco commanded himself.

"And I'll require your assistance." Draco met his father's eyes with a blank expression.

"On November seventh," Lucius continued, "Myself and a few others will enter the castle with the express intention of capturing Potter."

_Feel nothing, think nothing._

"There will be no need to worry about the old man – he'll be taken care of ahead of time. All you need to do is find Potter, incapacitate him, and bring him to us. You won't be safe after all this, so of course you will be coming with us. You'll be needing this to tell you when it's time."

Lucius reached within his robe, pulling out a gold, coin-shaped pendant on a chain.

"It will heat when we're near, and will get warmer until you find us. But no worries–" he grinned. "–it won't actually burn you." Lucius handed the thing to his son, motioning for Draco to put it on. Draco did so, placing the coin inside his robes. And the thing was hot against his skin.

Carefully, Draco phrased his question.

"Does it heat when there's only one nearby?"

"Yes, and it only heats to those who are truly devoted." Devoted to _whom_ he didn't need to say. Lucius had the good grace to look bored. Draco could see that he was having a thought. His father turned to him.

"I want you to see if it heats near Snape. Send me a letter saying either 'Yes, it does,' or 'No, it doesn't.' I don't believe Snape is _true in his devotion_ to the Dark Lord. That is why I wish for you to investigate him, and to keep your thoughts to yourself."

Draco had been keeping his breathing even, counting to seven and inhaling – hold seven –counting to seven and exhaling. He was doing all he could to stay calm, and not just run away now. The coin continued to burn.

This seemed to be the end of the conversation.

"Head back Draco," Lucius said. "Wouldn't want your grades to suffer from lack of sleep, now would we?"

* * *

Harry ran as fast as he could, Invisibility Cloak flapping around his ankles. He had been in bed when he remembered the letter. He, Ron and Hermione had finished up homework due for the next day, and had decided to play _Emperor's Pearls_ when they had finished early, losing track of time. Harry had just changed to his pajamas when he recalled what he'd put in his pocket. He threw on shoes and the Cloak and ran like hell.

He had several stitches in his side when he got to where the letter said to be. He struggled to keep his ragged breaths quiet; he didn't want to alert Draco and whoever was with him.

However, there was no one there. Harry searched for twenty minutes, and all he had to show for his effort was a burning windpipe, aching sides, and stinging eyes.

"Damnit!" He kicked the roots of the nearest tree. Something _tink_ed and then winked slightly from what little moonlight there was. Harry bent down cautiously, and picked up an ornate ring. A dragon was etched all the way around the band, and two stones – one black, one green – sat on the top and bottom of a single letter.

Harry tried to puzzle out whose last name began with a "W" and would meet with the only son of Malfoy.

With a flash of intuition, and minute embarrassment that he hadn't read it right the first time, he turned it over so that the "W" became "M."

* * *

**Author's Note****s:** Sorry for the snippet in the beginning: I'd completely bypassed the fact that it was Saturday, not Monday. And that's why I jumped some. I liked the beginning bit too much to it leave out. Also, I'll dive into the ring more in the next chapter (and should hopefully have the rough-sketch of it up on **deviantart** before too long). 

Even if you don't typically review, please do so anyway. Any little thumbs up boosts my confidence – hell, you could probably just leave a smiley face, and I'd be happy.


	3. Do You Need Some Help?

**Disclaimer:** Plot mine. OCs mine. Nothing else mine.

_"He who lives by fighting with an enemy has an interest in the preservation of the enemy's life."_ – Friedrich Nietzsche

**Three**

Draco had his eyes closed, a hand in his hair. He could feel Harry's eyes on the nape of his neck and along his scalp. Much as Draco wanted it to be a fancying sort of stare, he had the impression of anger and suspicion.

Snape stalked into the room, slamming the Potions door closed. Draco opened his eyes. Snape went about his desk and was, if it was indeed possible, even more taciturn than usual. He tapped the board with his wand, and instructions wrote themselves out.

"A Focusing Potion," Snape snapped, "requires strict attention. I, myself, find it rather ironic, and do not expect much from this class. Now get to work. By the way Potter," he added quietly as Harry went to gather what he needed, "since you find it to your liking to spend your personal time in detention, I'm pleased to inform you that you have a date tonight. Shall we say… seven o'clock? Oh, and don't expect to be out in time for dinner." Harry clenched his fists.

Draco wanted to follow Harry through the room, but he already had what he needed. For Draco, Potions class didn't require great concentration. He could blow up the entire class and still get an O, so it didn't really matter. But he went through the motions for something to keep him busy.

Was it really only hours ago that he'd met with his father? Dread settled in his stomach like a solid anchor. If Draco didn't feel any way towards Harry except for spite and hatred like he was supposed to, where would that leave him? He'd be able to go through with his father's plan, be able to accept it without question, be able to feel that Harry deserved what was coming to him.

_But he doesn't, no matter how much of a prat he is._

There wasn't anything Draco could do, though. It wasn't as if he could go against his father, _let alone_ the Dark Lord. He was only sixteen, damnit! And even though he didn't have the Dark Mark, he was still being treated as a Death Eater, as one of the Dark Lord's minions, his _lackey_. Draco had refused long ago to be anyone's lackey. His father had instilled in him a deep-rooted belief that Malfoy men were leaders, not followers.

_And what a fucking hypocrite he is, bowing and scraping like a dog licking the boots of a master that would sooner kick him than pet him._

Draco paused for some reason. Coming back into the classroom, he looked at his potion. He didn't remember doing anything, but his potion was brewing a thick chartreuse, so he must have been following the directions. It took him a moment to understand why he had stopped. He was missing the bay leaves he needed to continue. Lugging himself to Snape's stores in the front of the room, he grabbed the jar to reach in and pull out the small, crinkled leaves.

He couldn't see around his cauldron until he was behind it again. Everything was upturned and spilt. Draco heard a stunted snickering behind him. He didn't even need to turn around to know it was Weasley who'd done it. He cleaned it all without a word and went back to the stores closet for the rest of what he needed. He just couldn't bring himself to care.

Draco still felt the same two hours later in History of Magic. He had barely pulled out parchment and a quill. He sat with his hands folded out in front of him, resting his weight on his elbows. It was his best thinking position. The more he thought about it, the more his mind rebelled from thoughts of assisting the Dark Lord. Why should Draco Malfoy be controlled? Why couldn't he do as he wished? He saw the appeal for Pureblooded Wizards to flock to the Dark Lord – he promised freedom from hiding, ridding Wizardry of the Ministry, Muggles and Mudbloods, and do-gooders like Dumbledore. And by one death this could all be accomplished, and the Dark Lord would be undefeatable.

Whispers of fear, anger and self-doubt passed through his mind, making his head ache. Could Draco really just let Harry die? No more deep green eyes glaring into his gray… no more random bursts of laughter during Herbology… no more mocking taunts on the Quidditch pitch… no more meaning to anything, really. The thought of losing even those small things were like hammers to Draco's lungs. Harry would be gone, never returning.

But he couldn't _do_ anything anyway!

His breathing was getting that way again, that shallow, throttled feel. That ache in his head was threatening to burst through, and he closed his eyes, resting his head on his arms.

_Don't even think about it. __Is there even a point__ in fighting?_

Draco desperately prayed that the class was almost over. What was Binns going on about?

"_Now we may return to the thread of our last lecture… Once it was discovered that Lucia Ottero was the key to the Dragonhides, the Ministry sent their chief Auror, Strephan Morgain, to bring her to them…"_

Draco's focus began straightening itself out. Raising his heavy head, he commanded his ears to clear.

_"…However, the Ministry did not anticipate that the man they had sent to __capture Ottero had been secretly__ in love with her since their early years in school…"_

Draco felt a shiver burrow beneath the hairs along his neck and down to his arms to form goose-flesh. _In love since their early years in school_? Draco's head cleared, the blood rushing from his racing heart crashing into his confined head.

_"…Rather than warn her, Morgain took a great risk. On the date when the Ministry was to raid the suspected Headquarters of the Dragonhides, Morgain _Stupefied _Ottero and Disapparated with__ her into the Forests surrounding__ the great city of Rome."_

Skin still prickling, Draco clumsily reached for his quill and parchment, a revelation – the answer to a very important question – resting on this. The names, he had to get the names down and find more about them. He ignored whatever else the professor was saying – it didn't matter. But how did they stay out of the Ministry's reach? Did they just run and stay away for the rest of their lives?

_"__Ottero. __Morgain__." _What was this over? Fuck, were they on the Herrequin Revolt still or was this something different?

It didn't really matter. He had the names. Draco sat up straight. He felt like the crushing weight along his body had been purged, and that he could so easily stand and run out down to the library. His eyes jumped to the clock tucked discreetly next to the window. Six minutes. Draco's heel began uncharacteristically shaking. He tossed everything into his bag but that piece of parchment. He ran fingers and eyes over the letters, memorizing them. _Ottero, Morgain, Ottero, Morgain…_

Bell. Draco was the first one out the door, leaving his classmates amused and curious as to what had gotten his wand in a knot.

* * *

Harry's palm had warmed the ring in his pocket. All of History, Harry had been watching Draco from the sides of his eyes. The blonde looked positively miserable, as though his favorite cloak was beyond repair and due for the scrap-heap. Harry set aside the slightly queasy feeling he always got when thinking about Draco, reminding himself that this Malfoy (as all of them were, really) was a feckless git who didn't give a damn about anyone other than himself. 

Occasionally Harry would look to Hermione and Ron, the former penning a novel worth of notes, and the latter snoring slightly with his palm over his forehead. For the while that Harry had known his feelings for Draco extended beyond that of rivalry, he'd wanted to discuss it with his two best friends, hash it out, have them tell him that Draco wasn't worth it. Harry's vision of things could be influenced greatly by Ron and Hermione. If he'd said something in the beginning, he knew they would've reminded him of every time that Draco had set him up, humiliated him, spread lies about him. And Harry believed that with that support, the feelings would've been tamped down, never to resurface.

But Harry hadn't told them. He thought the reason for that was denial, for one thing. Harry refused to believe that he could feel anything _romantic_ for the "Slytherin Prince" of all people. So he left it alone, didn't examine it. And the other reason was that Harry had never shown any indication of "batting for the other team." Hermione would probably see it as some sort of natural progression of… something or other. But Ron. Ron would, to put it mildly, freak out, leading to major discomfort between the both of them. Harry wouldn't be able to stand that kind of alienation from Ron.

Harry ran a hand through his hair. Well, there wasn't much he could do now. He didn't want to have to think anything out, it just seemed like too much work for the moment. At least keeping an eye on the blonde ferret might prove worthwhile.

If anything, Draco looked on the edge of falling asleep.

_Late night plotting a Hogwarts take-over, Draco?_ Harry thought, a bitter twist to his lips.

Harry watched as something caught the Slytherin's attention. Raising his head, Draco stared intently at the ghost in the front of the room. Harry frowned in concentration, trying to decipher Draco's nuances. Draco reached quickly for his quill and parchment, scribbling something down hurriedly. He looked almost frenzied as he sat fully upright. He looked to the clock longingly, and his foot began to tap rapidly. He didn't normally do that, did he?

Harry could've kicked himself. He tuned his ears to hear what Binns was saying, but whatever it was that had caught Draco's attention was certainly done with now. Harry twisted to see Hermione over Ron, hoping to find something in her notes. But as Harry began whispering to her to see her papers, the bell rang.

Draco jumped immediately for the door, and Harry shoved everything into his pack, needing to follow him to wherever he was going. Classes were over for the day, so none of that mattered.

Outside the classroom, Hermione and Ron were heading the opposite direction of where their wanted to go.

"Where are you going, Harry?" inquired Hermione. He could see Draco heading off, and luckily hadn't turned a corner yet. The boy could be going anywhere: the Great Hall, the library, the Quidditch Pitch... Harry knew if he told Hermione 'I don't know,' she would insist on using the free time for studying in the library (where Draco might or might not be). And if he said 'For a lap around the pitch,' Ron would insist on going with him. Off the top of his head, Harry came up with something, and instructed his mouth not to sound uncertain with _oh, er_…

"Bathroom," and he dashed off without seeing their reactions.

Harry ran to catch up to Draco, and his attempt at being sneaky was thrown off a bit. Just as he spotted his target going into the library, a young Ravenclaw accosted him with an "Excuse me, but I've a letter for you from Professor Dumbledore?" as though he was unsure of his task.

Harry thanked the boy distractedly, taking the letter. He swore inwardly. In all this time of thinking about Draco, Harry had entirely forgotten about his meetings with Dumbledore.

_Dear Harry, _

_If you would kindly meet me in my office in ten minutes, I would like to continue our discussion from last time._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

_P.S. I would recommend Butterscotch Scatters to anyone with a good sense for sweets!_

A tad annoyed (but still grinning just a little at the last line), Harry tried to shake it off and bring his mind back to the task of finding Voldemort's weaknesses. Even though he might be able to figure out what the Dark Wizard was up to by tailing Draco. Harry scolded himself for thinking it was for any other reason than information.

* * *

Draco had been browsing through the shelves for ten minutes before finding something over the Herrequin Revolt. In the index, he did indeed find that Ottero and Morgain were part of it. Skipping to the pages where they were talked about, Draco skimmed and decided there was enough information to go on. He found two more such books before someone purposefully ran into him. 

He rolled his eyes as the pug-faced girl pouted at him, quite disgusted that a girl with that sort of face would dare show herself to the world as though she was some exceptional beauty.

Pansy crossed her arms beneath her breasts, purposefully flaunting them to entice Draco.

_Even if I was straight that would make me vomit._

Draco turned around to head for Madame Pince's desk to check out. Pansy clunked behind him moodily.

"_What_ is _wrong _with _you_, Draco?" she said, emphasizing every other word in that whiny voice of hers. "_You_ don't _talk_ to _us_ anymore, _and_ you're_ always_ staring_ out_ at _nothing_!"

Now at the front desk, Madame Pince thankfully shot Pansy a death-glare, effectively keeping her quiet. The books were due back on the sixth of November. Draco found it mildly ironic.

Skulking out the large double-doors, Draco turned to go find an unused room where he might have some privacy. The Slytherin girl was still behind him, however, and of course was still nattering on about something Draco could care less for.

"Are _you_ even _listening_ to _me_?" she demanded.

"No," he said, as though it was the most obvious answer in the world. This didn't stop her in the least. Just at the bottom of the stairwell, Draco spun to face her.

"Pansy, I honestly don't give a fuck, so shove off and find someone who's actually interested in you to pine over, you clingy bint."

Draco thought he saw her lip quiver for the slightest second before her expression hardened. She slapped him, hard enough to make him stumble. Draco rubbed his face as Pansy sashayed away. "Bloody women," he muttered.

He turned around and began climbing.

* * *

After several hours with Dumbledore and his Pensieve, Harry's mind was stuffed full with images of a younger Voldemort first learning about "being special," and questioning a former Potions teacher named Slughorn about Horcruxes. 

_A supreme act of evil_, thought Harry. It took murder to tear the soul in two, and Riddle had wanted it done six more times? Voldemort had almost definitely planned for making another Horcrux of Harry's death. And the diary, that damned diary that had nearly cost Ginny her life – that was one of Voldemort's Horcruxes. Along with Marvolo Gaunt's ring, both had been destroyed. And now there were four more to destroy – possibly things of all four founders.

And Harry was still going to be the one to defeat Voldemort. Not because of the prophecy, but because of his need to revenge his mother, father, and Sirius.

Harry wasn't sure how anyone could function with this much emotion (though according to Hermione, girls did it all the time).

Harry kept walking, not in a mood to go anywhere specific. He sighed sullenly, shoving his hands in his pockets. He started when his knuckle brushed metal.

_Malfoy's ring_.

Still going, he ran his thumb over the raised _M_ and the two stones. Harry wondered what Draco had needed to look up so badly. Maybe the Slytherin was still in the library? The thought excited Harry, and he began to quicken, hoping that Draco was still four floors below.

He was in a full-out run when – by some ridiculous chance of fate – Draco came out of a door on the right, closing it behind him. Harry had no time to stop, and so braced himself as he crashed into the other boy, books and bags flying and flung in all directions.

Draco hadn't even had the door closed for a second when he went flying. He lay dazed underneath another body. Lifting his head to look, he wished he wasn't in pain so he could enjoy the position. He let his head back down, thankful that this happened to be a carpeted hallway. Draco attempted to relish the feel of his body beneath the brunette's before he moved. Draco's shoulders were interrupting him. So to keep with his usual guise, the Malfoy reluctantly pushed at Harry to get off, his shoulders protesting doing so. Draco did manage to take some delight when Harry took a large breath and lifted himself over his rival. He might start thinking Harry did this sort of thing on purpose.

For his part, Harry was fighting his hormones as he looked at Draco underneath him. He felt exquisitely awkward, but couldn't summon the will to move his muscles any further. Until a stiffness in his pants threatened to make itself known. Harry rolled over, much like doing a jig as he got up and hopped about.

_Damnit_, Draco thought. _It had to be you, why is it always you?_ He sighed. _Venom, speak with venom._

"Glad to see _you're_ uninjured, Potter." Draco pulled himself up, instantly regretting it. He lay back down, biting back a hiss. His back and shoulders were searing. He closed his eyes and just kept still. If he hadn't been in any pain, he would've certainly been complaining. _"You've broken something, Potter!"_ he would've said. Or, _"Oh, my spine!"_ though that sounded rather girly. Draco was always one for attention, and used whatever means he could to receive it, especially faking agony. When it was _real_, Draco didn't say a word. He always found it funny how acting hurt and gathering 'sympathy' made him feel dominant, but actually hurting and being fussed over made him feel weak. It must've been his need to control, he thought.

Harry watched as Draco was still, saying nothing more. He almost started saying Draco's name, but caught himself.

"Do you need some help?" Harry asked softly, not sure why he was offering.

Draco's blood seemed to have acquired ants, which were now scuttling about in his veins. He turned his head and opened his eyes. The look of concern on Harry's face doubled the effect. Draco's mind was blanking on how to form coherent speech. He wished Harry was offering to help sort out Draco's life, and not just help him up.

"Do you want me to get Madame Pomfrey?" Harry stepped closer. Draco thought he might've heard himself mumble something about nasty-tasting potions and a fussy old bird.

Harry grinned, once again forgetting Draco was still Malfoy-the-Ferret. Draco chuckled and turned his head. He let a whine slip past his throat his sore back protested the chuckle.

Unsure of what he should really be doing, Harry knelt to pick up Draco's books and put them carefully into his bag. Was it awful for Draco to hope Harry would help him up? Maybe if he sent strong enough vibes…

"Do you, though? Need help up, I mean?"

Draco was suddenly greatly impressed with his psychic skills. Realizing he might look needy, Draco looked away and said casually, "That'd be nice."

Harry was careful about hoisting the injured boy up. Draco knew he'd be able to walk alright, but thought that while he was here, he might as well milk it for all it was worth. He leaned sideways so that Harry had to support him. Draco still hurt, but he didn't feel he'd lose much dignity by letting out a growl of pain or two.

Harry had both bags over one shoulder and an arm around Draco, helping him walk. He thought Draco might've been laying it on thick, but Harry couldn't gather more than half a damn.

Walking down the second set of stairs, the clock chimed. Harry stopped and counted the rings, under the impression that there was somewhere he was supposed to be.

"What is it?" Draco asked. Now that he was going, Draco didn't feel inclined to stop. Harry's arm around him sent warmth through his back, and somehow also made the hairs at the base of his skull feel extraordinarily sensitive.

"It's seven," Harry said fatalistically. "I have detention with Snape at seven."

Draco watched Harry look down the stairs, like he could see the dark Potions professor pacing about his classroom. Feeling Harry was about to tear off, Draco said

"Fuck Snape."

Harry turned to Draco, his eyes glinting with humor.

"Funny, I don't find that thought particularly appetizing."

Draco snorted (in a sophisticated manner, of course). Harry sighed, but started the both of them moving again.

Finally within the walls of the Hospital Wing, Madame Pomfrey trotted up to the two. Harry took his arm from Draco's back. Both felt colder from the action.

"_Again_ Mr. Malfoy? Weren't you in here _just_ _last week_?" She sighed. "What now?"

"…I skidded across a carpet." The two looked at each other as though it were an inside joke. Realizing they were grinning at each other – and that they'd spent the last half-hour in amicability – they dropped the smiles and inwardly berated themselves.

She began poking here and there until Draco mentioned it was his back he was having trouble with. Madame Pomfrey narrowed her eyes, looking between the two for some tell-tale sign they had been scrapping. Pulling off his robe and lifting his shirt, Draco yelped as her cold hands examined what felt like rug-burns.

The nurse shook her head and, with a flick of her wand, had Draco half-naked.

A very un-masculine "_Eep!_" could be heard all along the first floor. Draco attempted to cover his front, but only wound up hurting himself.

"Lie down on the bed, Mr. Malfoy."

She walked off to, presumably, find the remedy.

Harry silently left Draco's bag by the side of his bed. Draco sat and looked at Harry, torn between discomfort at being so exposed, and thrilled that Harry was turning a dashing shade of red.

_Dashing? God, I'm such a pouf_, Draco grumbled to no one.

Harry cleared his throat and turned to leave.

"Hey. Potter." Harry glanced over his shoulder.

"Yeah?" he said guardedly.

"Do you have a quill and some parchment I could use quickly?"

* * *

"_Professor Snape, _

_I would greatly appreciate it if you did not deduct points or punish Potter for his tardiness. I had an accident and he was assisting me to the Hospital Wing._

_Thank you sincerely,_

_Draco Malfoy."_

Snape wondered briefly if he was drunk and had forgotten going into his scotch stores earlier. He looked at the paper again, scrutinizing it with eyes and spells. It seemed genuine enough. He eyed Harry.

"Well?" he drawled. "Are you waiting for the marigolds to bloom? Start sorting."

During the three hours Harry had to catalog and sort various ingredients, he mulled over the events of the day. Death Eater plots, a suspicious Draco – though he did act suspiciously more often than not, Horcruxes, and actually getting along with his rival. It was like whenever he was near Draco, Harry couldn't remember why he'd been mad at him in the first place. Were those moments of companionship somehow a warping of actual events?

He felt pitifully unqualified to deal with his life just now.

Harry pulled himself up the stairs by his arms, lest his jellied legs convince the rest of Harry's body just to camp here for the night.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I _am_ incorporating meetings with Dumbledore in this story, obviously, although Harry's a bit further along than he would be at this time in HBP (October 3rd). 

A shout-out to **Mistress Black** for the awesome feedback.

And I'm not certain, but I think the word "bint" is somewhat outdated. However, being an ignorant American, I don't know this for sure.

I said two chapters, and I have no homework tonight. Come hell or high water (neither sound very tempting), I'll get out a chapter four tonight, because Adica Finch goes to school with me, and she's scarier than Lord Moldywort. (I meant Voldemort! _Damnit._)


	4. You've Got To Be Kidding Me

**Disclaimer:** Yadda yadda, not mine.

**Four**

Saturday was cold; the sun was nowhere to be seen, and the sky was coated with gray. Harry took a deep breath, relishing the weather. He'd hated blue skies ever since those summers when he was younger, forced outside under an unforgiving sun and that awful blue overhead. He wished he was flying by himself instead of having to play referee, coach and den-mother for tryouts.

Harry had been surprised to see nearly all of Gryffindor waiting for him as he walked onto the pitch an hour ago. With that many, he'd had to divide everyone into groups of ten, thankfully seeding out the ones who couldn't even fly, a giggly bunch of girls falling all over the place, and – very frustrating to Harry – a group comprised of Hufflepuffs.

It only took two hours of torturous headaches to find himself three chasers: Katie Bell, Demelza Robins, and Ginny Weasley. The two Beaters, Jimmy Peakes and Ritchie Coot, though not as outstanding as Fred and George, were admittedly really good.

The last member of the team came down to a choice between Ron, Seamus, and a Seventh-Year named Cormac McLaggen. Harry honestly hoped McLaggen was awful, or at least worse than the other two; McLaggen had already tried to take over the team and he hadn't even flown for the position yet.

Luckily, McLaggen could only fly, it seemed, due to his inflated ego, and he couldn't save a goal to save his life. Seamus was really good, to Harry's dismay. He'd saved four out of five goals. And to win the spot, Ron would need to save all of them.

Harry could hardly stand to watch, but he was the captain. Certainly he should show slightly more grit.

Ron had saved four of five, and Ginny was rapidly coming up on the goal…

* * *

Harry felt slightly more human after a bath and some food from the kitchens. Now all he wanted was to make the most of the weather and fly without anyone else. Well, maybe _one_ person else. 

Heading down the stairs, Draco materialized from nowhere. Harry stopped. He hadn't tried to make sense of the truce the two seemed to be on, and didn't have the emotional energy to deal with it yet.

Draco inclined his head in a general direction.

"The Pitch?"

Harry nodded, his heart having become a rubber ball to bounce up in his throat, and down to the pit of his stomach, and to the walls…

Draco had been leaning against a wall, but propelled himself forward to fall in step with Harry.

Harry felt he should say something, but was scared it would be something stupid beyond the telling of it.

Draco, however, was comfortable with the silence. There had been moments during the last few days where Draco had fought back insults, because after five years it was second-nature to have a go at Dumbledore's Golden Boy. Draco didn't much feel like screwing things over this early in the game. He needed to be on excellent terms with Harry by the time the seventh of November rolled around, or the plan wouldn't work as well.

Nearly outside, a large gasp sounded from a few meters away. Draco snickered. He'd seen Potter-worshippers before. The drooling always gave them away.

"Look, Potter," Draco gestured. "You've got a fan."

A Hufflepuff girl who looked to be in her fourth year approached Harry and did the "I'm-not-worthy", squeezing her books to her chest tightly, giggling in an attempt to be flirtatious.

"Hi. I'm Ella. You're Harry, right? Hi-ii…" she sighed.

Harry was taken aback, literally. Ella was backing him into Draco, who was beside himself in amusement. Draco kept an ear out for that voice that told him "hands to yourself," so he wasn't tempted to touch Harry inappropriately. Or at all.

"There's a trip to Hogsmeade tomorrow. Want to go with me?" She _ever-so-__subtly_ batted her eyelashes.

Harry racked his brain for an excuse, any excuse. The only thing he could think of was:

"I'm already with someone. We're exclusive."

Draco could hardly contain himself: Harry sounded so panicked, and his lie was so obvious. Draco was almost leaning into Harry, biting down on his fist to control his laughter.

"No you're not," Ella frowned. "I would've heard about it. I have friends in Gryffindor who tell me things," she said self-importantly.

_What, friends you order to spy on me?_ Harry thought, panicky. He hadn't known this girl for two minutes, and he already wanted a restraining order on her. Draco was still fending off an attack, barely able to contain himself.

"Did it just happen this morning?" she asked in disappointment.

"Oh, um – er – well, I –" Harry couldn't think fast enough to come up with a reasonable answer.

"So then you _are_ available?!" She hopped in place, smiling so widely most all her teeth could be seen.

_This is the best thing I've heard in months!_ Draco was gone, now sitting on the floor, laughing himself to tears.

The girl smiled pointing at Draco.

"Is he okay?"

The straw that broke the camel's back, Draco titled over sideways, no longer caring if he was heard.

Harry glared daggers at the Slytherin, who – gasping for air – took no notice.

Harry needed more time to think. This was too much duress.

"Er, Ella–" Harry cleared his throat. Ella's eyes widened, a bright look of hope spread across her features.

"The, er, truth is… I – I promised Draco we'd spend some quality time together!"

Ella tilted her head to the side, as though she didn't understand. She waved a finger back and forth between the two of them, frowning.

"I thought you guys were, like, rivals or something?"

Harry shook his head vigorously. "Nope! That's just for, ah, appearance's sake! We really haven't had any time to just hang out."

"_Ohhhh_," she nodded in understanding, her eyes closing as though a revelation was beaming itself into her head. She opened her eyes, smiling. "Then I guess I'll just see you around!" she said perkily. She waved goodbye before skipping away.

Harry looked at Draco on the floor, arms across his stomach, face red and tear-streaked.

"Some help you are," he told Draco.

Gathering a breath, Draco sat up. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. But opening them again, he saw Harry's consternated expression. Draco barked once more and began again.

Harry walked away and towards the door, not finding it funny at all. At the broom shed, Draco caught up with him. Draco was still grinning, and Harry's frown distorted into something else. Smiling suited Draco very nicely, in Harry's opinion.

Harry grabbed both their brooms, handing Draco the Nimbus 2001.

"Thanks," Draco said cheerfully. Harry's "no problem" died before it even reached his vocal chords.

Walking into the middle of the pitch, Harry tried to imagine being someone else and watching the two of them walk onto the Pitch together. It was almost like seeing Hermione sidle up to Snape. Harry shuddered, glad that breakfast had been hours ago. Draco raised an eyebrow. Harry shrugged.

Draco took out a Snitch from his pocket. He could see Harry wanted to ask, so he said, "Got it from Hooch's office."

"You knicked it?" Draco shrugged.

"Slytherin."

Draco let the Snitch loose.

"Hey, Potter," he said as they mounted their brooms. Harry tried to instruct himself to breath.

"Yeah?"

Draco leaned in close. He batted his eyelashes.

"Hi-ii…" He took off. Grinning, Harry kicked up as well.

* * *

"That was brilliant, Harry! Did you see the look on their faces?! Five out of five, beat his arse! Harry?" 

Harry was looking about nervously. He was extremely glad for Ron's height just now – maybe she wouldn't see him. Was she even here?

"Something wrong?"

"Huh? No, no. Honestly. Keep talking. Mind if we duck into the Three Broomsticks?"

Ron shrugged, just happy to relay the story of his victory again.

Harry really hoped Ella wouldn't be around. Inside, Harry checked the clock. It was 10:28, and Draco had told Harry he'd be at Oberlohr's Bookstore around 10:45. The thought had passed through Harry's mind that everything had been leading up to a trap that would be put in motion today. Harry had that small seed of maybe-just-maybe growing within him though. He didn't mean to water it, but there it was. Now was really the time to say something to his friends, but he'd need longer than seventeen minutes to explain everything. It was more a thirty-minute kind of explanation.

Even if he had _days _to talk to Ron, the redhead wouldn't condone any of Harry's actions. Even if he somehow got past the whole my-best-friend-is-gay-and-I-didn't-know-about-it thing, Ron would raise hell for Harry fancying Draco.

_But what about Hermione?_ Harry told the waitress that he wasn't hungry, but thank you anyway. Hermione was a smart girl – she would be able to see both sides of the spectrum, but follow more with the logistics than the emotional aspects. And what if he asked her to come with him to the bookstore? Ron wouldn't set foot in there unless by some chance the Chudley Cannons were signing inside.

"Hello, all," Hermione said brightly as she came in, twisting the ends of her scarf. She looked at Harry.

"Mind making a trip with me to the bookstore around the corner? No offense, Ron," she turned to say to him. He shrugged, raising his arms to stretch.

"I'll head over to the Quidditch store. Honeydukes later, then?"

Hermione nodded, and both watched as he walked out. Hermione pointed a thumb over her shoulder at the door.

"Mind if we get going now? C'mon." Harry caught the clock again. 10:32.

Oberlohr's Bookstore wasn't a great distance from the Three Broomsticks. Hermione sighed.

"Harry," she began quietly. "We've been friends for a long time now. I know when something's bothering you, and I certainly know when you're upset. Even though Ron pretends that everything's okay, I won't."

Harry's throat clogged with fear. Hermione pulled him over to sit in the gazebo away from the main path. Harry was still anxious to meet Draco, and still undecided if it was a trap or a showing of good faith.

"It's fine, Harry. We've got eleven minutes, and it only takes five to get there."

Harry stared at her, unable to summon something to say.

"I overheard you talking to Malfoy yesterday after you came in."

Harry looked away, feeling himself pale. Hermione put her gloved hand over Harry's bare one.

"It's okay Harry. I honestly don't care if you fancy boys. I just wish you'd come to me, instead of it having to be the other way around."

Harry lifted his head to look her in the eyes. He could only find warmth and understanding.

Harry had to think about how to phrase what he wanted to say. Hermione saw, and kept silent.

"I wanted to say something, but then I thought that I was imagining it, and that it was some sort of, I dunno, phase. But when I figured out it went further than that, I didn't know how to…"

"Say it?" she offered gently.

"Yeah. Not to mention Ron."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Ron is not going to be so ignorant as to drive his best friend away for being gay, Harry. You two have been through too much for something as trivial as this to tear you apart."

"Trivial? Hermione," he stared at her, "I–" He glanced around to make certain no one was looking. "I've got the hots for Draco Malfoy, I don't think he'll be able to overlook that."

"Well, who doesn't think he's attractive? Something's been going on besides that, hasn't it, though?"

Harry leaned his back as far over the rail as it would go, and pulled front again.

"It might take time."

Hermione shrugged, standing.

"Well, there's time after you meet Malfoy. But do you really mind my being there? I'll keep to the back, promise." She held up her hands in a halting motion, eyebrows raised. "I'll even pretend to be so dazzled by the pretty paper that I won't take notice of either of you. And if things turn out bad, you'll have backup."

Harry looked up at Hermione, honestly believing she was the most amazing woman in the world.

"Let's go, then."

* * *

Draco had already purchased the books he needed. He was still uncertain the plan would work, being in the outline stage of things. But there really wasn't any alternative that he could see. As long as he worked with it, things should be fine. 

Other supplies he needed he'd gotten hours ago from various places. He could do with more things that could be gotten from the school, maybe in the Room of Requirement, but he didn't know if things could only exist within the confines of the room.

Glancing lazily at the grandfather clock near the door, he saw the hands move to 10:45. And saw Harry walking towards him, Granger in tow.

_You've got to be kidding me_.

Why had Draco even suggested Harry meet him here? Was there any reason at all to this madness?

"Of course not," Draco muttered.

"Excuse me?" said a man in a feathered top hat next to him.

"Nothing." He moved away towards another corner of the store.

Would Harry ask why Draco had wanted him here? Draco didn't have anything prepared to say. _Obviously it should have something to do with books._ But what would he need Harry Potter's inference on? And why the fuck had he dragged Granger along?

A bell above the door rang as the Gryffindors entered. The two immediately split off, the Mudblood's eyes lighting up as she spotted some books off to the side.

Harry strolled up to Draco, trying not to be tense, but not able to help it. Draco felt the tension, too, and said without thinking

"I need you to help me find a book."

Harry cleared his throat, trying not to laugh. Draco wished he had a moment to find a thick tome to hit himself in the head with.

"I'd figured as much," Harry thought.

_He did?_ Draco puzzled.

_Hell no, I didn't.__ I thought you'd knock me unconscious with a history text and drag me into the back to_ – And from there were multiple ideas, few having very little to do with being taken to Voldemort.

"Well…good. I'm not sure which one I want on, er, Defense Against the Dark Arts. And since you're–" _Swallow your pride, Malfoy!_ "–_better_ with that kind of thing than I am, I thought you'd know what to look for."

Draco was very proud of himself for the admission. He thought a celebration with Butterscotch Scatters was in order.

"Alright, then," said Harry. "Anything specific you're looking for, or just an in general?"

Draco blinked. "Um, an in general type, but advanced?" He couldn't say why his head was bobbing the way it was.

Harry looked to see where Hermione was, and then began scouting for the section he needed. There was no way Draco really needed a Defense book. But did that mean Draco had a nefarious plot which revolved around Harry? Or had Draco invited him here just because?

It would drive Harry crazy for the rest of the day.

* * *

**Author's Note:** … I can function without coffee! 


	5. Was Your Alarm Turned Off?

**Disclaimer:** I'm not disclaiming any more. Anyone who thinks that I own multiple castles is obviously either very hopeful or off the deep end.

**Five**

Harry threw the school robe across the room. That one wasn't his. He dug around and found another. Too big in the shoulders. Ron's, then. He yanked it off.

"Oi, Ron, I found yours!" he declared, waving the garment proudly above his head. He threw an arm over his face to keep from being pelted by the candies inside the pockets.

"Hey, found yours, too!" The Weasley boy looked at the numerous pieces of golden-colored candies on the floor. "Might want to be careful with those, mate. Fred 'n George might _say_ it's one thing, but you never can tell until it's too late."

They tossed each other their robes, and both began to pick up the sweets, trying to hurry. They had ten minutes to get to Defense Against the Dark Arts, their alarms having been "mysteriously" turned off. Ron had grumbled that the only person it could have been was Seamus. Harry agreed somewhat, but there wasn't time to go at it now, especially since the Irishman wasn't even in. He was in class with the rest of the Sixth Year Gryffindors.

"Here, Harry, just shove some in your pockets."

Harry and Ron grabbed their bags and wands, hastening out the room.

"What are they?" asked Harry as he closed the door.

"Honesty Honeys, they say. Make you tell the truth, and each works for five minutes." They stomped down the stairs.

"That could be handy…"

"There you two are! I was just about to rush up to get you!" said Hermione. The boys stopped, thinking they had somehow plunged down the stairs and hit their heads.

"Well, what're you waiting for? We've got to go!"

She yanked both of them by their sleeves, and once they had gained momentum, they were sprinting down hallways and across corridors.

"Why'd you wait for us, Hermione?" Ron asked, a strange note in his voice. Harry tried to keep from grinning. It was obvious to all but those two that Ron was mad for Hermione – and vice versa.

"I didn't. I woke up seven minutes ago and heard you two shouting about the time."

The three were breathing heavily, but not heavily enough to stop the conversation.

"Was your alarm turned off?" Ron asked. Hermione nodded.

"Yes. I clearly remember setting it last night, though. I couldn't say how it happened."

Ron brooded. His expression changed to indignation a moment later.

"Aren't you going to ask us why _we're_ up so late?"

From where Harry was positioned, he could see Hermione's lips quirk.

"I just assumed you'd both overslept. Which is strange, since your stomach is your alarm, isn't it, Ron?"

Ron elbowed his mate as he chuckled.

They made it in just as the bell rang. And were very surprised to see all of the Sixth Years, not just the norm of Gryffindors and Slytherins.

Professor Tatoian looked up from reading the novel on her desk. She raised an eyebrow as the trio mumbled apologies and took the seats they could find.

The professor closed her book and stood.

"Things are going to change up a bit, as you can tell. Rather than continuing on as we have, I thought it best that we tackle something different. So, from today on, you'll all be working in groups of three – or in some cases, two – and following through–" she flicked her wand towards a storage closet behind her. It opened, and multiple stacks of the same book floated out, dividing themselves up to the students. "–this. Zelbon Alberrey's _Finding the Psyche Through __Spellwork_. I've chosen this deviation from the course because I believe that to defend yourself, you must know yourself: what most frightens you, what most motivates you, and so on. There are ten chapters, and we shall be covering one chapter a week until just before the Christmas holidays."

"Didn't we finish one for another class just last week?!" Ron hissed to Hermione and Harry.

"It isn't that awful, Ronald. It sounds exciting, actually," she whispered back. She began flipping through the book as soon as she had one, eager to begin. Ron made a face so Harry could see. Harry grinned.

"Depending upon what the chapter calls for, we will either work the spell given, write a reflection, or, in the case of chapter ten, use a potion. No one is exempt from this, and I mean no one." She gave the Slytherins a pointed look.

* * *

On the other side of the room, Draco rolled his eyes. He thought all this sounded like psycho-babble bullshit. He turned to the table of contents.

_1__ Predator of the Psyche: Facing the Dementor_

_2__ Intuition: Trusting Your Gut Feeling_

_Yeah_, thought Draco, _well my "gut feeling" is telling me this is going to fuck me over royally._

"I have all the houses here," continued Tatoian, "because there will be no two people from the same house in a group."

There was instant grumbling.

"Oh, be quiet," said the professor playfully. "You'll live." She pulled a scroll from her desk, looking it over while nodding her head.

"Yes… all right. When I call your name, write down the names of those in your group, and the number of your group."

Draco partially tuned her out, turning lazily to watch Harry. The Boy-Who-Lived didn't seem to care much about this.

"_Group One: Seamus Finnegan, Gregory Goyle, Hannah Abbott…"_

Draco became relaxed, content just to be looking at the messy-haired boy. Much as he wanted that small chance of being paired with Harry, he highly doubted it would happen.

When Harry's name was called, Draco crossed his fingers. Maybe he'd get to work with Harry, but with another person in the group. That thought didn't phase him much. Time with Harry was still the same – he'd just have to keep up the usual appearance of animosity, was all.

"_Group Four: Harry Potter, Samantha Moon, Terry Boot._"

Draco made a face, but didn't comment, not that he would to any of his lot. The Slytherin was thankful that Boot was a womanizer in any case, and wouldn't go after Harry. That was when the question came into Draco's mind of _Is Harry Potter even gay?_

Draco hadn't even stopped to bother with this. He'd just assumed from that day on the Quidditch Pitch that when Harry seemed to respond to Draco's… advances, it meant Harry was gay. It was a mistake on Draco's part to go after the object of his affection like that, only to have toyed with him.

_Whatever. _

He didn't want to think about this, it involved too much soul searching. So he did what he was good at and repressed these thoughts, pushing them away to examine them when he had nothing better to do.

The class was starting to get restless, almost everyone now named.

"Everyone quiet, there are only two groups left! _Group Eight: Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy…"_

The room was immediately silent, and Group Nine was able to hear their names easily. Everyone was looking between a red Hermione, and a disinterested Draco.

From the corner of his eye, Draco tried to gauge Harry's reaction. The Gryffindor seemed to be signaling his friend with significant looks. The Weasel looked to be murmuring words of comfort, and glaring at the slick blonde.

"A few last notes. When you meet together individually, I suggest somewhere devoid of other people. There are plenty of empty rooms in the castle, so I suggest you find one and mark it as your own. We'll all be meeting like this on Wednesdays. For the rest of the time, including today, use this class as a study period, or leisurely reading – I don't want to see anyone without something to do."

Now all Draco wanted to do was close his eyes and lay down on his cold bed in the dorm. But he decided to attempt being productive, and took out his Ancient Runes text to quiz himself.

* * *

**Author's ****N****ote** Sorry I haven't updated 'til now, and that it's such a short chapter. I promise, it may seem like filler, but shit's going down with this, so just try to bear with it. I'm also sorry that I don't typically respond to reviews – I just feel awkward about it, but I'm **extremely **appreciative to all of you. From now on, I promise to answer when you talk to me. And not just because Adica called me a wuss, either. I'm not so easily goaded. Well, I _am_, but – you get the idea.

For anyone who's curious about the groups, here they are…

1: Seamus Finnegan (G), Gregory Goyle (S), Hannah Abbott (H)

2: Neville Longbottom (G), Blaise Zabini (S), Susan Bones (H)

3: Millicent Bullstrode (S), Morag MacDougal (R), Sally-Anne Perkins (H)

4: Harry Potter (G), Samantha Moon (H), Terry Boot (R)

5: Lavender Brown (G), Padma Patil (R), Vincent Crabbe (S)

6: Ron Weasley (G), Pansy Parkinson (S), Justin Flinch-Fletchly (H)

7: Dean Thomas (G), Lisa Turpin (R), Theodore Nott (S)

8: Hermione Granger (G), Draco Malfoy (S)

9: Parvati Patil (G), Mandy Brocklehurst (R)


End file.
